Late Night
by MissouriLady
Summary: Just a one-shot, Matt needs to break into an archive to find something, and happens across an archivist. Not much just an idea.


**One shot, not planning on going any further, but it was in my head.**

 **Any bad grammar is totally mine, and I haven't caught up on the series yet, so this is just a shot in the dark.**

 **Enjoy!**

Matt slipped into the hallway. It smelt fresh, clean only the lingering scent of paper in the air.

 _Old paper_

 _And vanilla?_

Matt frowned, slowly moving forward. Karen had told him that the New York archives was closed after 6pm with no night staff, so they infiltrated it during the day. Granted that hadn't gone so well. No one had access to the collections or 'stacks' without access. Instead, under the guise of looking up the history of the church in Hell's kitchen. Matt was able to get a good smell of the papers while Karen chatted up the archivist.

Matt stopped at a corner, and listened. Apparently there was a night archivist.

Steady heartbeat, the scent of vanilla stronger, and some sort of fruit. He bent his head, and the smell of papers from Hell's kitchen.

Matt almost cursed. This was not his day. They needed to figure out a way into Vanessa's new hideout, an old speakeasy supposedly.

 _Not so easy Karen_. Matt mentally cursed, before focusing again on the person in the next room.

From what they gathered, the archives was short staffed, and didn't have any form of night crew, so why was this one here. Suddenly the heartbeat changed. It started beating a half a beat faster. Something was wrong.

"I should have not come in tonight."

 _A woman._

 _Slightly terrified woman._

"Why Mr. Stark wants all of these darned papers I'll never understand." She muttered, pulse elevating, and her frustration seeping into the air. Matt almost chuckled.

He heard the slide of paper against plastic. She was putting them away. Hopefully she would go into the stacks, and he would be able to sneak in.

Plastic was gently laid down on metal, and the creak of wheels was heard. Matt moved back into the shadows. The scent of vanilla and citrus grew stronger. Her heartbeat was steady, but then she stopped. And Matt heard it. The pulsing of the mechanics on her that was too constant for a phone.

"I can hear you."

He froze.

She sighed. Moving forward she walked right past him, and Matt could hear the jump in her pulse. He focused and could hear the implants or aids. She was deaf.

"It's rude to keep a lady waiting sir, what do you want?"

Matt almost choked on a laugh. He stepped out of the shadows, "Hell's kitchen. A list of the speakeasy's."

The vanilla grew stronger, her skin was moving, more than likely she raised her eyebrow and she huffed. "Well, easier said than done. The 1920's stuff is in the back. Might have copies of the lists but more than likely the records office at the Metropolitan police might have the originals."

"If you don't mind."

Chiffon ruffled, and light touches followed by mechanical beeps seemed to echo. "Not at all, just putting away some maps from the section. You can follow along."

A thud followed the last beep, and cooler air filled the hallway. The cart was guided through the door, and he followed the woman, taking in the smell of paper, some rust, and the currents from some machines.

The room was colder, and he heard the woman shiver, but she stepped forward, away from the mass of metal to one side.

"We're working on the 1910's and 1920's currently. Possible exhibition in the future, so they may be more accessible than I thought." She turned to the left, and Matt kept the layout in his head, for future use. "Is that what you're working on?"

The woman shook her head, the citrus growing stronger for a moment. _Her shampoo then, the vanilla must be her soap._ "No, this is a special request. Came with a big check and I drew the short straw."

He chuckled. "Not a fan of night?"

The air around her stilled. "Not a fan of the daylight either." He heard a finger tap against plastic, she must be hitting her hearing aid.

"I'm sorry." Matt sympathized. He understood being afraid from a disability. It ruled him until Stick came. The air swirled around her again, she started moving forward against another set of metal, shelves he determined.

"Not your fault, so no apology needed. I find comfort in small things."

Plastic left the metal with the softest sound, before hitting a piece of foam. Some sort of holder maybe Matt thought.

"It was the alien event. I was in grand central station, hiding. One of those aliens blasted out a wall above my head. The shock or whatever from the weapon discharged damaged my eardrums. Hearing aids or cochlear." She stepped away from the left side of metal, and to the right.

Matt swallowed, _she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time._

Skin hit plastic again, the beep from the button caused the currents to relocate and the metal moved. "This is the 1920s bounds section. From the top down is any and all police records during the time."

"Anything specifically on speakeasy's?" He felt the air move, and she must be looking at him. "Um. Well, there is an old betting book on the last shelf. Might have locations that bets took place, could be helpful."

He moved down, and reached the end of the unit, and crouched. There was a thick volume taking up most of the bottom of the shelf.

"I don't suppose I could check it out?"

She snorted. "This isn't a library."

"An associate of mine needs it. I would return it when I'm done."

"If I let you walk out of here with that I will officially be the worst archivist on the planet."

Matt turned his head. "Not to mention fired."

Her heart pounded. "More than likely. And no other archive would dare to hire me."

He picked up the book, and moved back down the aisle, stopping in front of her. She was tall, only wearing flat shoes, cotton pants, and a chiffon top that was rubbing against her wrists.

"Sir," her voice soft. "I know that you have good intentions but I can't let you leave with that."

Matt almost frowned. "No one has to know. I promise to bring it back."

"But,"

"I swear I will be back here tomorrow with it."

Her pulse jumped, and he could almost hear her thinking. The air around her head moved, and a quiet whisper echoed. "Okay. But if there is one coffee stain on it, I will come after you. Vigilante or not."

Matt smiled, and he sensed the heat on her face, and her pulse jumped again.

"You have my word Miss."

He walked past her, down the hall to exit the area when he heard a whisper.

"Evangeline."

Matt froze. He half turned back to her. "My name is Evangeline, but I prefer Eva."

He smiled. "Pleasure to meet you Eva." Matt moved quickly out to the doors, smiling the whole time.

 _Good Angel_

Who met the devil and showed no fear.


End file.
